Turnabout Notebook
by ellerean
Summary: Phoenix Wright was at the top of his game, the unbeatable rookie lawyer. But one by one, his clients began to die before coming to the stand: And all of mysterious heart attacks.
1. Chapter 1

_The Defense_

* * *

The courtroom was silent. The judge sat at his bench, staring at the thick, double doors as if willing them to open. Miles Edgeworth was poised at the prosecutor's stand, already sporting a condescending smirk. The bailiffs glanced at each other, checking their watches, impatiently tapping their feet.

And Phoenix Wright's shirt was already soaked through with sweat beneath his jacket. He stared at the mess of evidence spread out on his stand: Crime scene photos; autopsy reports; scribbled notes to himself. But something was missing. There _always _seemed to be something missing, but he couldn't even _attempt_ a coherent explanation.

There was no weapon, no motive, and no witnesses. And his client wasn't there yet.

"Where _is_ she?" Phoenix muttered, and Maya looked up, having been studying the evidence herself.

"She'll be here, Nick!" she chirped. "Gumshoe said they'd bring her right over after questioning."

_More _questioning. All they could determine from their investigating was she _hadn't_ murdered the victim, but there was absolutely no way anyone else could have done it, either.

But for ten former mobsters to die of heart attacks on the same day? Coincidences like that didn't happen.

The double doors slammed open and Gumshoe ran in, red-faced. Alone. Phoenix prayed that his client would appear soon after, or was hiding behind his massive bulk, but no matter how many times he crossed and re-crossed his fingers, she wasn't there. A murmur rose in the courtroom and the judged banged his gavel, calling for order.

"Detective Gumshoe! What is the meaning of this?" the judge asked.

"Sir! Your Honor!" He jogged up to the judge's bench, breathing hard. All eyes were focused on the unfolding drama. Even before Gumshoe made the announcement, Phoenix knew what had happened. He was still in denial until the declaration was made: "It's the defendant! She's dead! Heart attack!"

Maya sighed heavily. "Not again."

* * *

Phoenix avoided the lobby until after the courtroom had cleared. The media hovered outside, waiting for his statement, but he slumped to the floor behind the defense stand and pretended they weren't there. Maya had snuck out to the lobby for Swiss rolls from the vending machine, and a cacophony of camera flashes and reporter's shouts echoed from the lobby before she slammed the doors closed again. She tossed a Swiss roll to Phoenix before sitting on the floor beside him.

"This is impossible," he whined, forcefully unwrapping his snack.

"But we got further than last time!" Maya said. "At least we got to court before your client died."

"Thanks a lot, Maya." Phoenix shoved the Swiss roll into his mouth.

He _knew_ that his clients were innocent. There had been no evidence against them, but the situations were too unlikely to go unnoticed by the court. People were dying of heart attacks all over the world, and at a rapid rate. It was impossible to pin down a suspect, but they kept on dragging them in. Phoenix defended each one of them before they, too, died of a heart attack.

"_I'm_ going to have a heart attack," Phoenix said, hugging his knees to his chest.

Maya tapped her chin in thought. "What we need is a way to hide the case from the media," she said. "If someone is targeting your clients, maybe they won't die if no one knows you're representing them!"

Phoenix clutched at his spiked hair with both hands, pulling at the roots. "But it's impossible! She was in the detention center for a week and wasn't in contact with anyone besides us and the police. How could someone target her?"

He left out the bigger question, which was already getting old, and for which they had no answer: How could a _heart attack_ be a weapon of murder?

"Maybe it's someone in the jail," Maya said, "poisoning food, or—"

A shadow loomed over them both. "Wright."

Phoenix didn't even look up. "Edgeworth."

"I recommend you give this game up," he said, leaning over the defense's stand. "Get up and stop sniveling."

Maya sat up straight, balling her fists. "He is not sniveling!"

"This isn't looking good for you," Edgeworth said, ignoring her. "If your clients continue to die, you won't make it as an attorney. No one will hire you. You're jinxed."

"Thanks for rubbing it in," Phoenix muttered.

"The media is gone," Edgeworth said, standing upright and squaring his shoulders. "There are guards outside waiting to escort you to an armored vehicle." Phoenix peeked out from his folded arms. "I recommend you go home."

"Edgeworth . . ." But he had already walked away, disappearing into the prosecution's lobby. "He's—"

"Let's go, Nick." Maya stood, holding out a hand to help him up. Reluctantly, he balled up the empty Swiss roll wrapper and took her hand.

* * *

"Home" didn't necessarily mean "sleep," though come one o'clock in the morning Phoenix wished that he could. He had spread his meager evidence over his bed, staring at it blankly, wondering what could have gone wrong. Edgeworth was right—he _wasn't_ going to get any new clients if they kept on dying, and it wasn't like he had another career to fall back on. Artist? Pianist? He groaned. He wasn't good at anything, and at this rate he wasn't very good at law, either.

He spread photos of his last three clients across his pillow. Despite how many times he stared at their faces, there was no link between them. The victims they were accused of killing had nothing in common—mobsters, kidnappers, and murderers from different parts of the country. He sighed heavily. He had attempted to find a connection before, to no avail. He wasn't going to find one now, either.

He wanted to ignore the buzzing of his phone, but the illuminated screen was hard to miss in the dim light. He sighed as he picked it up. _You better be sleeping. _Maya.

He considered not answering, as if proof that he _was_, in fact, sleeping, but she knew him better. _Why are YOU up?_

_Can't sleep. Wanna meet for burgers at the diner?_

Burgers at two a.m. wasn't one of his better decisions, but he hadn't eaten since breakfast, before the case. And, besides, staring at this evidence again was going to reveal nothing. So he grabbed his bike helmet and head for the door.

Maya wolfed down her burger as Phoenix studied the diner's middle-of-the-night clientele. College students, security guards, and construction workers filled the booths, eating an early breakfast or chowing down on desserts. Phoenix's own cherry pie sat abandoned on the table. He opted against Maya's selection of a meal; a greasy burger at this hour would only cause trouble later. But the pie wasn't that appetizing, either.

"Figure anything out?" Maya asked, her mouth full.

He hadn't mentioned re-examining the evidence—it was all he _had_ been doing since his first client died unexpectedly, before they even had a chance to go to court. "Nothing." He sighed miserably. "Maybe I should just stop taking these cases."

"You can't do that!" A nearby table of college students glanced over at her exclamation. She lowered her voice. "These people are counting on you, Nick. We'll figure something out! We always do."

Edgeworth's words continued to echo through his head: _No one will hire you. You're jinxed._ What if the only people who hired him now where suspected murderers, and _they_ all died before he could get paid? He was struggling with rent as it was, with his track record of dead clients.

"Nick." He jerked his head up; Maya was picking through the last french fries on her plate as she watched him. "You haven't eaten anything."

"Not hungry," he said, pushing the pie to the center of the table. "I'll just get it to go."

Maya remained silent. He took that as a bad sign, too—if she wasn't pressuring him to solve his problems with food, then he was a goner for sure.

Despite his protests, Maya returned with him to the office. She would have preferred for him to go straight home, but Phoenix insisted on picking up more case files before retiring for the night. To their surprised, there was a blinking red light on the Wright & Co. Law Offices voicemail.

"At this hour?" Phoenix said, as he pressed the button to listen.

The voice was garbled and difficult to decipher, but they leaned in over the machine to listen. "Phoenix Wright," it said. He couldn't figure out if it was a man or a woman. "I require your assistance. I've seen your name in the papers, and you're the only one who can help. I'm being framed. I have sent you two emails, one with my personal information and the other with instructions on how to decrypt the first. Please come to my home tomorrow. This is of the upmost urgency."

They played the message over again, but it was just as cryptic as the first time.

"That's really weird," Maya said. "Check your email!"

Phoenix couldn't deny his curiosity. He opened his email and, sure enough, there were two new messages from unknown names that arrived just an hour before. The decryption was easy enough, though it required some basic math skills that needed major calculator work. When they finally decoded the second message, it contained only a name and an address, plus instructions not to use names within the house. _You will refer to me as the client_, it read, _and I will call you Lawyer._

"I don't like this guy," Maya said, though she was already pulling her coat back on. "Are we going or not?"

"_Now?"_ It wasn't one of their better ideas, but scoping out this mysterious client's house was better than tossing and turning the rest of the night. So, against his better judgment, they memorized the address—it was within walking distance of the office—and locked up.

It took only fifteen minutes to arrive. Phoenix and Maya stood on the sidewalk across the street, watching. Despite the hour, there was still a chance of activity—someone _had_ left him a voicemail not long ago—but the house was dark and silent.

Maya shivered, huddling closer to Phoenix. "This place creeps me out."

"What, like it's haunted or something?"

"No . . . I know what a spirit feels like." She shivered. "Would you mind if I didn't come tomorrow? It feels . . . weird."

"Well, I guess that's okay." When he squinted at the house, he could swear there was a sign of movement in a second-floor window. But it was so quick that he didn't have a chance to register if anything had happened. Phoenix frowned. Why couldn't he get one normal client for a change?

* * *

_Kira_

* * *

"Look at this, Ryuk." Light Yagami leaned back in his desk chair, flicking the newspaper toward the shinigami. "That lawyer made the news again. Looks like his client died." He chuckled.

"Bad break," Ryuk replied, hovering over the newspaper. "Phoenix Wright . . . that's a dumb name. He doesn't have any luck, does he?"

"How unfortunate," Light said, turning back to his desk. "This could ruin his career."

Ryuk lingered, peering over Light's shoulder as he opened the worn, black notebook. He paused only momentarily before scribbling down a list of murderers, thieves, and spouse abusers—anyone who had appeared on the nightly news. "His picture is right here," Ryuk said, waving the paper in front of Light's face. "You could kill him."

Light glanced up at the photograph. Yes, he could kill the pathetic lawyer. His little sidekick, too, and maybe that stuck-up prosecutor he was always up against. That would stop this whole charade. But he leaned back, crossing his arms as he shook his head. "Too easy. He'll end up doing it himself. I want to see how far he'll go to defend his precious clients." He snatched the paper to skim the article again. "Nothing on a new case for this guy?"

"Nope." Ryuk was already bored, stretching back onto the bed to reach for the basket of apples.

"We'll keep an eye on him," Light said, turning back to the notebook. "Let's see how far we can push him before he breaks."


	2. Chapter 2

_The Prosecution_

* * *

Edgeworth enjoyed watching the new guys sweat it out. They were intimidated even before he spoke; just stepping into his elaborate office was enough to start them stuttering. But this one was different. The chief prosecutor had wanted Edgeworth to review Teru Mikami's papers before he went to court—just to make sure—but there was nothing for him to correct. It was immaculate. Mikami himself sat in a guest chair across the desk, ramrod straight with not a bead of sweat on his forehead.

"Very good," Edgeworth said, slipping the papers back into their folder.

"Thank you, Mr. Edgeworth."

He slid the folder across the desk. "You're ready. I have faith in you, Mikami. You will win this case."

Mikami rose, clutching the folder firmly beneath his arm. "Thank you again for sitting with me. It's an honor to finally be working with you." He nodded in an informal bow, then turned to exit the office.

"Before you go." Edgeworth inclined his head as Mikami looked over his shoulder. "The boy you're up against in court today is also a rookie. But don't get overconfident. He's had adequate training."

Mikami nodded again. "Yes, sir. Thank you." He disappeared, closing the office door behind him.

Edgeworth stood, turning to the teapot on the windowsill. He sniffed the teacup and wrinkled his nose; it had gone cold hours ago. Gumshoe would have to dump the entire pot later.

To his surprise, there was a knock on the door. The secretary hadn't alerted him to any visitors, and there was nothing on his calendar for the moment. He had planned to use this time to prepare for his next case.

He sat back down before calling, "come in."

His second surprise was having Phoenix Wright enter his office. Unattended. Maya Fey must be be attending urgent matters to leave "Nick" wandering the streets alone.

"Wright? What are you doing here?"

Phoenix slumped in a guest chair—uninvited—and set a manila envelope on the desk. "I have a new client," he announced.

A year ago Edgeworth would have offered sarcastic congratulations. But he knew what this statement meant: There was yet someone else accused of mass-murder using _heart attacks_, of all things, which was scientifically impossible given the evidence—of lack thereof. Edgeworth still hadn't received a guilty verdict in any of these cases, but only because the accused continued to die. He wouldn't admit it aloud, but he wasn't sure _how_ he could win. It was easier to prove innocence in these cases, because there was no probable method of murder.

"I see," he replied evenly. "And why are you telling me?"

"If it was anyone else I wouldn't have come here, but—"

Edgeworth cut him off. "I'm not doing you any favors."

"No, nothing like that! Well, not really." Phoenix scratched the back of his head. "We're trying our best to hide this one from the media. We're not releasing his name."

Edgeworth nodded. "A wise idea. I'm impressed, Wright. You may have a chance to see this one through."

But Phoenix slouched, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling. "What do you think about all this? I mean, these heart attacks _can't_ be a coincidence . . . right?"

"It's preposterous," Edgeworth said. "Someone is targeting criminals, and he is using a method that cannot be traced. Unless . . ."

Phoenix quickly sat up. When Edgeworth didn't go on he shouted, "Unless _what_?!"

He shook his head. "I won't give you any clues. But you have better access to _alternative_ means of investigation."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Edgeworth shrugged, a sly smile on his face. This conversation was over, and he needed Wright out of his office. He had a case to prepare for. "Go back to work and talk with your assistant. She helps you with the more difficult cases, right?"

Dejected, Phoenix stood and grabbed the folder from the desk. "You make me sound inadequate."

But Edgeworth was already rifling through a filing cabinet, pulling out a manila folder of his own. "You just require a push in the right direction." He studied his folder when Phoenix muttered to himself as he left, only peering up as the door closed behind him.

Edgeworth leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingertips. He'd already decided the murders were supernatural in origin—It was the only logical solution. If he'd never personally witnessed Maya Fey's channeling, he would have immediately dismissed the prospect. But was that solution taking the easy way out? Would a spirit medium have such a grudge on criminals? They were often hidden away in their villages, shielded from the outside world. Edgeworth had immediately ruled out the Fey clan, but could the killer be someone similar? Someone whose powers were even greater than those who could contact the dead?

Edgeworth smirked. If Wright didn't take advantage of his connections, he was a bigger fool than he thought.

He grumbled when there was another knock on his door. "Can I _ever_ get some work done here?" Edgeworth strode to the door, throwing it open, expecting Gumshoe or Wright or any other idiot standing there waiting to bother him, but instead he was staring over the head of the office intern. He looked down at her. _"Yes?"_

"I- I was told to give this to you, Mr. Edgeworth, sir," she said, holding out the newspaper. "Urgent news from Tokyo."

"Thank you." He accepted the paper and closed the door, despite the girl's obvious waiting for some response. The front page was littered with news about the mysterious heart attack murders, not that that was anything new. He flipped to page two.

"_Kira_," he said, skimming the article. "So they gave him a name. Not a very original one, but journalists aren't known for creativity." He settled on the office couch, crossing a leg over his knee to flip open up the paper. So it was official—the heart attacks _were_ murders, and this Kira was the one behind it. Then his eyes went wide: The Japanese police were on the case, but the head of investigation was going to be—

The office door swung open—without the preface of a knock—and Edgeworth whacked the newspaper onto the couch. "Gumshoe!" He shouted, as the detective burst in. "Learn how to knock!"

"Sir, you've gotta see this! Come to the conference room!" But before he could question the detective, he was gone.

"What is the meaning of this?" Edgeworth asked as he strode into the conference room, but was greeted by a communal _shush_. Police and prosecutors were crowded around the flat-panel TV, which showed only an elaborately-scripted _L_.

"_Kira . . ."_ The voice was garbled, but a hint of surprise was discernible behind it._ "It seems you can kill people without having to be there in person."_

"What is—"

"Shh!" The entire room of law enforcers shushed Edgeworth before he could ask. But the answer was obvious—this was a showdown: one between this killer, this Kira, and . . .

"_L is real. I do exist. Now, try to kill me!"_

The room fell silent. They listened to L's taunting and his jabs, to his demand that Kira murder him. Edgeworth tugged at his cravat, sweat trickling down his throat as he waited for that synthetic voice to cut off.

There was a pause in the broadcast and then . . .

"_Well, Kira. It seems that you can't kill me after all."_

Edgeworth released an audible sigh, raking a hand through his prematurely-grey hair. A murmur arose in the conference room but he could only watched the television in silent awe, praying that something would appear besides that old English-style L, but it only returned to the mundane news broadcast.

"Edgeworth? Sir?" Edgeworth hardly heard Gumshoe as he hovered. He scanned the conference room, watching as everyone trickled back to work. His eyes locked on Mikami, who still stared at the television screen in wonder. Yes, of course he would understand. He was a firm believer in justice as well. But rather than approach the rookie, he turned away.

"I must prepare for my case," he replied coldly, when Gumshoe tried to follow. "I cannot be disturbed."

"But sir," he said, trailing Edgeworth to his office, "do you know what this means? The world's greatest detective is on this case! Even greater than me! Wow, it's like—"

"Yes, I am aware, detective," Edgeworth said as he reached his door. "But there is still work to be done." And he disappeared within his office.

He locked the door and hurried back to the couch for the newspaper. It was old news now; the Internet and tomorrow's papers would be filled with this showdown between L and Kira. Frustrated, he flung the paper to the coffee table and relocated to his desk. He despised using the Internet for his news, but Kira worked so rapidly that it was the only reliable source.

A search for _Kira_ already provided thousands of results. He grunted in disgust as he opened page after page of Kira-worshipping fan sites. He returned to the search bar, his fingers hovering over the keyboard like he was about to unlock a dark secret.

Just the thought of it made him sweat. But how could one search for a single letter? What could one possibly learn of the world's greatest detective from _the Internet_? Regardless, he plugged in the letter to search. To his surprise, the first several results were exactly the man he was looking for—and the news headlines were already filled with that single gothic _L_, the same one he had witnessed on the television screen.

But there wasn't much to read. There was no information besides what everyone already knew: He didn't show his face. He had solved innumerable unsolvable cases.

Edgeworth grit his teeth. How old was he? How long had he been working? What was his education?

He pounded his fist on the desktop, causing the laptop to rattle. He was a _prosecutor_! Why was he scrabbling around on the Internet for information on a _detective_?

His phone rang.

"Miles Edgeworth," he answered, fighting to keep his composure.

"Mr. Edgeworth, sir!" It was some high-strung bailiff whose name he could never remember. "Your witness is here!"

"_Now?"_ He sighed. "Very well." Leave it to a witness to be _early_ for a change, today of all days. He cleared his browser history—no one needed to see how many Kira-worshipping sites he had seen, even if there was little chance anyone would use his laptop—and shut down, gathering his folder for the next case.


	3. Chapter 3

_The Defense_

* * *

As planned, Maya remained at the office while Phoenix visited the mysterious client. As he approached the client's front door, he couldn't determine whether his shiver was from Maya's weird vibes or paranoia. He rang the doorbell, then heard the shuffle of feet within. There was a pause—the client likely peered through the door's peephole—before the door barely cracked open. "Come in," the client said, and slammed the door when his attorney squeezed inside.

It took Phoenix a moment to adjust to the darkness. All the shades inside were drawn, which cast the house in an eerie glow. A chill seeped into his bones, as if he had entered a crypt. The client was at least decently dressed—his dark jeans and black T-shirt matched the oversized Elvis shades hiding his eyes. Phoneix followed down a dank hallway to the living room.

"Mr. Br—"

"Hey!" The client glanced over his shoulder. "We don't use names here, remember?"

Phoenix recoiled, quickly nodding. "Yes, of course. I'd forgotten."

The client sat cross-legged in the center of the love seat, motioning for Phoenix to take a nearby armchair. At least he didn't offer that they sit on the same couch, but it was more unnerving to sit across from each other. Even from behind the sunglasses, his stare bore into him.

"How can I help you?" Phoenix asked.

"I want to make sure my name is clear," the client replied.

Phoenix waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. "I'll have to get some more details," he said. "What have you been accused of?" But as he spoke, he started to realize how much sense the situation didn't make—if he had been convicted of anything, why was he at home and not in jail?

"Nothing," he said with a casual shrug. "And I want to keep it that way."

Phoenix frowned. "I . . . don't think I understand. I do all I can to protect my clients, but if you haven't been convicted of anything—"

"There's a detective on this job."

Phoenix was already weary of his vague proclamations. "A detective?"

Without a word, the client shuffled into the kitchen and was heard rummaging through some papers. Phoenix wondered if he should follow, but the man soon reemerged with a newspaper and dropped it in his lap. On the front page was little more than a single letter: _L_. He wanted to read the enclosed article but the client had already sat back down, staring at him through his sunglasses.

Phoenix swallowed hard, his heart pounding. "Y-Yes, o-of course."

"I don't trust him."

The irony was almost laughable. Phoenix couldn't stop himself from asking, "Is it because he doesn't show his face?"

The client snarled. "He's nothing like me. _I_ have reasons not to go out there. _He_ is just a coward. I trust _you_, Mr. Lawyer. You're the one who's come to talk to me, man to man. You believed in your clients' innocence before this _L _figured out it was some kind of voodoo magic. I want you to investigate these victims." He produced a piece of folded paper from his pocket and thrust it toward Phoenix, who reluctantly accepted. His head was swimming—he _hadn't_ read the news; he had no idea what the man was talking about, but he tried to keep calm. "See what you can find. I'll make sure you're adequately compensated."

That meant _money_, and that was something Phoenix was lacking. He unfolded the paper, which contained only a list of names. Some looked familiar, being criminals he had seen on the news, and some he recognized as heart attack victims. He tucked the list into his jacket pocket.

"I'm not completely sure what you need from me," Phoenix said. "But if you haven't been accused of anything, I wish there was some way I could convince you that you don't require legal advice."

"I will be the judge of that," the client said. His smile was too wide; Phoenix shivered. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Lawyer. I'll be in touch."

When he made no motion to get up, Phoenix nodded and let himself out. Maya had been right—the house, and the client, gave him the heebie-jeebies. He couldn't get outside fast enough; the sunshine was a warm welcome after his brief visit.

But he was stuck. It wasn't his job to investigate dead-ends; he had become useless in this whole investigation. L was on it, and L didn't need anyone. As Phoenix hurried back to the office, he wondered if Edgeworth knew about the detective on duty. He considered stopping by the prosecutor's office, but opted against it. He had just been there, and—

It came to him in a flash: _You have better access to alternative means of investigation_.

He had to get to Maya, right now. There was only one way he could be dismissed from this case, and it included something only Maya—and the women of her family—were capable of.

* * *

"You want me to do _what_?"

"Come on, Maya. It'll help us out! And we can get rid of the creepy client. _Please_?"

Maya sat at Phoenix's desk, which was littered with take-out burger wrappers and Steel Samurai cards. She huffed, crossing her arms. "Why can't I do it _here_? Why do I have to go to that house? You can record me or something! And then show him later!"

He shook his head. "This is the only way it can work—you _have_ to summon one of these people." He waved the list of victims at her. "Or two of them. Or however many it takes for the client to believe there's no way he can be accused of these killings. And he has to be right there. He might have questions. I can't answer those."

Maya pouted, but he had a point—if the client could hear from the heart attack victims himself, he could _maybe_ understand that he had nothing to do with it. And _maybe_ he would release Nick of his questionable duties.

"I'll buy you a burger afterward," he said in a sing-songy voice.

"Nick, I'm offended! I can't be bought for a _burger_." She sat up straight. "Make it a _month's _worth of burgers."

"A _month_?" He banged his head on the desk.

"_Fine_, a week. Lunch _and _dinner. That's my final offer."

Phoenix leaned over the desk to hug her tight; she gasped for breath and tried to wiggle free. "Thank you, thank you, thank you. You're a life saver, Maya."

* * *

His role as burger-provider began that night. As they walked to the burger joint, Phoenix felt for the thin wallet in his pocket. He couldn't back out of his promise until _after_ Maya had visited the client, but his funds were quickly depleting.

"Nick?"

He still wasn't convinced that spirit channeling was the answer, but it was the only thing he could think of. The client hadn't been _accused_ of anything—and the client knew it—but that list of names was expansive, and if he believed there was even a chance that—

"_Nick!_" Maya tugged harder on his sleeve, breaking him out of his reverie.

"What is it?! What's wrong?"

"Look, Nick!" she said, nearly pulling the sleeve off his jacket. "Isn't that Misa-Misa?"

Though the name meant nothing, he still looked around frantically. "Who?"

"Nick! Get with the times!" Maya clung to his sleeve and bounced as they walked. "Misa-Misa is Japan's biggest up-and-coming model!"

"How can you be 'big' if you're up-and—"

"Let's go talk to her!"

"What? No, Maya, I'm sure she's on her way to some—"

But she broke away, rushing up the sidewalk to approach the petite blonde. Maya called out to her, causing the model to turn and flash a smile. Phoenix couldn't hear their conversation as he jogged to catch up.

"I'm your biggest fan!" Maya was saying.

"You're so nice!" Misa-Misa squealed, clapping her hands. "Do you want an autograph? I always give autographs to Misa-Misa fans!"

"Hmm . . ." Maya patted down her costume, as if there was any chance she had something on her, despite the lack of pockets. "Nick, give me something for Misa-Misa to sign."

"What?" But he was already peeling off his backpack. "I don't have anything."

"I'll give one to you, too," Misa-Misa said with a wink, "if you're good."

"Me?" Phoenix blushed. "Aw, thanks . . ."

Maya was rummaging through the backpack, nearly sticking her head inside in her search. "Ah! Here we go!" She pulled out an empty file folder. "It's the best I can do."

Phoenix frowned. "There _were_ files in that . . ."

"Perfect!" Misa-Misa produced a pen, asking how to spell Maya's name (_It's not that hard_, Phoenix thought) and scribbled on folder. "And what's your friend's name?" she said, batting her eyes at Phoenix.

"Uhh . . . Nick," he replied, internally sighing. He had to admit, her pep was infectious.

"Here you go!" She held out the folder, but immediately pulled it back. "Wait!" She opened it up again, hunching over slightly as she wrote. "Misa-Misa is having a concert next week, and you should both come! You can be my special guests. If you call my manager and tell him Misa-Misa sent you, you can get discount tickets!"

"Wow!" Maya hugged the folder to her chest. "Thank you, Misa-Misa!"

"No problem!" She bounced on her toes, causing her skirt to flounce around her. "Anything for my biggest fans!" She flashed a peace sign and grinned, then bounded down the sidewalk.

"She's so cool," Maya swooned, as they watched her skip away. "Let's go to the concert! Discount tickets, Nick!"

It was pointless to argue; Maya was already reading the manager's number from the folder. Well, at least it was a Friday night, and Misa-Misa _was_ cute—she'd probably put on a good show. He briefly pictured Edgeworth at the concert, and choked on the laugh in his throat. Maybe he could talk Maya into asking him, too. She didn't say there was any ticket limit . . .

"Oh no, Nick!" Maya pouted.

"What?" His heart lurched at her down-trodden face. "What is it?!"

Her shoulders slumped. "I didn't get her picture! I could've had a photo with Misa-Misa!"

* * *

_L_

* * *

It was all over the papers.

_Epic Showdown Between L and Kira_

_Lind L. Tailor Front for Mysterious Detective_

_Crime Rates Decrease by 20%_

L tossed the newspapers aside, bored of his name plastered all over them. But there was one that caught his eye, a tabloid that Watari had stuck in the middle of the pile. _Why would he include a thing like that?_ L thought, picking up the paper between two fingers, as if its filthy content soiled its pages.

This cover, surprisingly, had nothing to do with him: _Cursed Lawyer Takes Mysterious Client! _Curiously, he turned to the featured article on page two.

_"Phoenix Wright has been winning cases left and right since his courtroom debut. He has gone up against the most vicious prosecutors, proving his clients' innocence when it seemed all hope was lost. But lately, his trials have ended in failure. Not because they were found guilty, but because they continued to die."_

L's eyes widened in surprise. He glanced at the lawyer's photograph. He was normal enough—not overly flashy, like the prosecutors in this country. L skimmed through to the interesting parts.

_"On the record, the Wright & Co. Law Offices have been silent. No clients have entered its doors, but Wright himself has been keeping busy. He has been seen entering homes of Kira's victims alongside his assistant, Maya Fey."_

"Fey?" L nibbled on his thumbnail. Where had he heard that name before?

_"But Wright has been _working_, and it's been suggested that he does have a client: One whose name has not been released. Who is this mysterious client, and what is his connection to Kira? Could Wright have finally found someone whose name he cannot clear?"_

L perked up. "_Fey!_ Of course." He tossed the paper aside, turning to his computer files. "Misty Fey, spirit medium. Hmm." He scrolled through her biography. "An unfortunate history. Could this be her successor? A daughter?" L sat back, tilting his head as he stared at the screen. "What is her connection to this lawyer?"

But Watari did not share this newspaper because of the spirit medium: It was the client that piqued his interest. The tabloid was the only documentation that Wright had taken a client, but he could not deny its validity. If his clients were consistently dying—of heart attacks, he could only guess—Wright was smart not to reveal his name. But ever since the broadcast, the world knew who was behind the heart attacks: _Kira_. And Kira was smarter than to seek legal counsel. No, not smart: Arrogant. He was a man who thought he would never get caught.

His computer _blipp_ed, and Watari's silhouette appeared on-screen. It was time to talk with the newly-elected Task Force. L pushed the papers aside as he accepted the call.


	4. Chapter 4

_Kira_

* * *

"_Tabloids?"_ Light Yagami sighed, leaning back in the dining room chair. "Sayu, you can't be serious."

"But look at this!" His sister leaned over the table and shoved the paper in his face, forcing him to lean back farther to see it straight. "This poor lawyer! It's like Kira is targeting him! _I_ think he's smart for hiding his client's name."

Light speared a potato wedge, then chewed slowly as he scanned the article. _This guy again_. "But what if his client is Kira? That would explain why he won't show his face."

"Nuh-uh," Sayu said. "He wouldn't. His clients are always innocent! It says so right here!"

Light ignored the shadow cast over the paper—the one only he could see—as Ryuk hovered overhead, reading the article. "You sure you don't want to kill this guy?" the shinigami asked.

Light cast the paper aside and took up his silverware again.

Sayu was in disbelief when Light announced he had a study session after dinner, but his mother reminded her yet again how important it was that he keep up with his schoolwork. Light glanced at the tabloid as he cleared the dinner table. "Mind if I take this?" he asked, and Sayu laughed.

"You were making fun of me before!"

A smirk crossed his lips. "I think my friends will get a kick out of it."

He shoved the paper in his backpack before heading outside, turning in the direction of the Wright & Co. Law Offices. He peeked at the tabloid to confirm the address, which was stupidly printed in the article.

Ryuk drifted nearby, invisible to all who passed; Light seethed with jealousy. Already, the shinigami was getting on his nerves. "You don't have any friends who live over here," Ryuk said, as they passed out of the residential area. "Where are we going? Are you going to buy me some apples?"

"Maybe later," he said, as they approached the building. It was mostly dark, being after working hours, but a few windows in the upper floors were illuminated.

Light had anticipated making up an excuse for his visit to security, but no one sat at the desk. By the looks of it, no one had sat at that desk for some time—there were no computers and no sign-in book; the elevator bank was open and an ID card was unnecessary. "This is my lucky night," he said, scanning the directory posted on the wall. Ryuk was already pressing the button to call the elevator, watching the numbers illuminate on a side display as a car came down to the lobby.

He couldn't know for sure whether the lawyer would be in his office, but he knew that lawyers in general kept late hours. Besides, shouldn't they always be available for clients? Light stepped into the elevator, Ryuk close behind, and hit the button for the tenth floor. The car slowly crawled upward.

"This isn't any fun," Ryuk said, poking his head through the ceiling of the car.

"It's an _elevator_," Light replied with a sigh. When the door opened, they were greeted by a gray hallway lined with closed doors, all expect one—the Wright & Co. Law Offices, at the end of the hall, were open for business.

Light straightened his collar and knocked on the door tentatively, poking his head inside. "Hello?"

The lights were on, but no one was in clear view. Then, a girl came from the back who was wearing . . . was that a bathrobe? "Hi there!" she said, nodding in a quick, informal bow. "Welcome to the Wright & Co. Law Offices! I'm Maya Fey, Mr. Wright's assistant."

The lawyer himself was right behind her, still throwing on his suit jacket as he came into view of a "potential client." He looked nothing like his photograph in the paper, which had almost looked calm and professional. Light waited to see if he would even button his jacket on straight.

"I'm sorry about the late hour," he said, focusing back on the assistant.

"No trouble at all!" Maya replied. "Would you like some tea? I'll go make some." And she disappeared before he could confirm whether he wanted it or not.

"Phoenix Wright, attorney at law," the lawyer said, after he had finally buttoned his jacket—straight, Light was relieved to notice—and came to shake his hand. "What can I help you with?"

"I, uh . . ." he laughed nervously, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Hello, sir. My name is Light. I was hoping I could ask you some questions? Maybe get some advice? I'm kind of scared about . . . you know"—he lowered his voice—"Kira."

Ryuk chuckled.

Phoenix nodded, though the disappointment of _not_ having a proper client was all over his face. But he motioned to a small seating area with two couches, a table set between them. "Of course. Please, let's sit." Light waited for Phoenix to sit before settling on the other couch, right on the center cushion, with his hands folded in his lap. The table held an empty tea cup and a couple magazines (was that _Eighteen_ _Magazine_? Light hoped it belonged to his little assistant, not the lawyer himself). Maya reappeared with a tray of tea, pouring a cup for each of them before sitting down beside Phoenix. _Is she even a lawyer? _Light thought, taking a sip from his cup.

"You understand that I'm just a student, so I'm not in danger of Kira or anything," he said, intentionally rattling his teacup from faked nerves as he set it on the table. "But I heard all about your clients, and I'm really sorry about them." Phoenix sulked, clearly upset over their deaths. Light continued. "I just want myself and my family to be safe. Do you know anything about this Kira? How does he kill people? My father works in law enforcement, so you understand that I'm nervous."

"Really?" Maya sat up straighter—if that were possible—splashing a little bit of tea on her lap. "Who's your dad?"

_Crap. She's too nosy._ "I'd rather not say," he whispered. "You never know if _he_ is listening."

Phoenix slowly set down his tea. It was clear that he was trying to act calm in front of this nervous student, and it took all of Light's composure not to laugh—especially with the shinigami hovering, chuckling each time Light spoke. _I told you this would be interesting, Ryuk_.

"You're safe here, Light," Phoenix said, and Maya nodded enthusiastically in agreement. "We don't know _how_ Kira is murdering people yet, but we know that he's only targeting criminals. You and your family will be safe."

_Is this the best our justice system can come up with?_ Light thought. But he continued to maintain his nervous act, picking at his nails and fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

"And the best detective is on the case," Phoenix continued, as if he was associated with the faceless detective at all. "We trust L. Kira will not be a threat to us much longer."

_Are you sure about that, Phoenix Wright?_

"L?" Light said, reaching again for his tea. "Is he the one who was just on television? But he doesn't show his face."

"That's why he's perfect!" Maya said. _Why won't this girl shut up?_ "So far, Kira has only killed people who have shown up on TV or in the news. No one even knows what L looks like, so he'll be safe."

Light sighed. "Well, that's a relief."

Ryuk continued disappearing into the back room, and Light tried not to visually follow him. Maybe the shinigami would prove useful—maybe there was something in the office he would find interesting. After Light's second cup of tea, he rose and waited for the lawyer to hastily follow suit before shaking his hand. "Thank you for speaking with me, sir," Light said. "I'm sorry I stayed so long. I can compensate you for your time, if you would like."

"Not at all, not at all!" Phoenix said, walking him to the door. "I know it's scary out there right now, and I'm glad to help. Please come by anytime."

Light bowed, holding it a little longer than necessary. The lawyer hesitated, then quickly bowed in response as Light stood straight. He thanked him again, profusely, before heading down the hallway and into the elevator. It wasn't until Light was outside, walking away from the building, that he allowed himself to smile.

* * *

_The Defense_

* * *

Maya had rushed to the window to watch the student walk away. He seemed a lot better than when he first came in—he walked more casually, and it almost looked like he was talking or singing to himself. She watched until he turned the corner, out of sight.

"He was so nice!" she gushed, turning to clean up the tea. Phoenix had resettled on the couch, flipping through the newest issue of _Eighteen_. "I feel really bad for him. It must be hard to have a dad who's a police officer, especially now."

Phoenix's head shot up. "And it's not hard being a lawyer?!"

"But you're used to this!" she said, holding tight to the tea tray. "He's just a kid!"

"I think you're the same age, Maya." Phoenix mindlessly flipped through the magazine. "Hey, look, it's that model we ran into." He held up the article; Maya nearly dropped the tray in excitement as she grabbed for the magazine.

Typically Phoenix would _not_ have been in the office at that hour, especially if he wasn't preparing for court the following day. Despite Maya's bubbly exterior when Light had appeared, they had been discussing the channeling that would occur the next day. And the more Maya thought about it, the more nervous she was.

She hadn't yet completed her training, so calling up several spirits in one day would be difficult—especially in front of the client who still made her nervous. She had agreed, of course, in order to help Phoenix, and they had compiled a list of spirits she would channel—but not without researching them first, to make sure they weren't _really_ bad criminals.

When they closed down the office, Maya insisted on staying at Phoenix's apartment that night. She claimed it would make it easier when they went out in the morning, but he knew she simply didn't want to be alone. He _did_ have a futon in the living room for a reason; it was her home away from home.

After Maya had settled down, fast asleep, Phoenix huddled under the covers with his laptop to keep up with the latest on Kira. He was slightly disappointed that he didn't have access to the investigation's files, even being a lawyer, but detectives were always secretive about their big cases—and L especially.

He couldn't remember falling asleep, but he woke to the sound of clanging in the kitchenette and a warm laptop under his cheek. He rolled over with a groan, squinting into the early-morning sunlight. The smell of pancakes wafted into his bedroom, which was motivation enough to get out of bed.

"Good morning, Nick!" Maya said, donning his apron with a spatula in hand. "Sit down and have some breakfast."

He certainly wasn't going to argue with pancakes, but he _did_ protest when she set a toppling stack before him. "I can't eat all this!" he exclaimed, as she poured syrup over his plate.

* * *

Hours later, griping over a full stomach, Phoenix trudged to the client's house with Maya in tow. Ordinarily she'd be trotting beside him, talking his ear off, but instead she watched the sidewalk as they approached the house. Now, ringing the doorbell, she stood as close to him as possible without touching. He could feel her radiating heat through his suit jacket as the front door cracked open. He glanced at her, waiting for her approval, and she nodded before they slipped inside.

"You wanted to see me?" the client asked. He stood the center of the foyer, blocking their path, in the same dark clothing and mirrored sunglasses.

"I'd like you to meet someone," Phoenix said. They had agreed not to reveal any connection between them—it made Maya feel safer. "She's a spirit medium. We're going to summon some of the heart attack victims, and I hope this will help you understand that you're not responsible for their deaths."

The client stood silent a moment, stroking his jaw. Phoenix would have liked to discuss this option with him over the phone, but he would only discuss anything related to "his case" in person. Eventually he nodded. "Very well. I've never seen a channeling in person." Even with the sunglasses, it was obvious that he was staring at Maya as he spoke. "What do you need from me?"

"Nothing at all!" Maya chirped. "I have everything right here." She patted Phoenix's backpack. "But I was hoping maybe you have a room without windows? They can be distracting. Or if there's a curtain covering them, that's okay."

The client led them down the hall and descended a staircase to the basement. Phoenix knew that Maya was accustomed to the channeling chamber at Kurain; the client's dark basement was a poor substitute. At least it was clean—obsessively clean, considering it was a basement—and they were lead to an empty spot on the floor. There wasn't a speck of dirt, Phoenix noticed, as Maya rolled out a travel-size tatami mat and began to set up the candles.

"Ready?" she asked, slipping off her shoes before kneeling on the mat. Phoenix was surprised to see that the client had removed his sneakers as well, without being asked, before joining them on the small mat.

Phoenix fished a piece of scrap paper from his pants pocket. "These are the victims we plan to channel," he said, handing the list to the client. "We didn't want to call anyone who might be too dangerous."

The client's eyebrows raised over the edge of his sunglasses. "That is fine." He hardly looked at the list before handing it back.

To both Phoenix's and Maya's surprise, the client removed his Elvis shades and carefully folded them into his breast pocket. Maya clenched her fists and held down a gasp as he looked up. Phoenix didn't notice anything amiss, but Maya had difficulty keeping eye contact, smiling too wide as she double-checked her set-up.

"Is everything all right?" the client asked.

"Yes!" she replied, too enthusiastically. "Let's begin." Finally, she folded her hands and bowed her head, and they both mirrored her actions. Phoenix was tempted to peek at the client, but he knew any movement at all would be a distraction. He prayed that the client would stay in place and not try anything funny.

"_Kira."_ Phoenix's eyes shot open. Maya was looking at the client evenly, her expression cold and indifferent. He still wasn't used to how her body changed when channeling; now she looked much older, her face leathery and wrinkled, and _masculine_. The client, whose head was still lowered, peered up at her. Maya—or, rather, the victim—tilted her head. "Why'd you call me back?"

"You don't remember me," the client said, staring in awe at her changed appearance. Maya stared, eyes cold and blank. "You're a fool." He laughed, lifting his head higher. "Of course you remember me. I tried to kill you." He glanced at Phoenix and then quickly added, "in self-defense."

Phoenix wouldn't speak during the channeling, but the client had mentioned attempted murder so casually. He wanted to leave, this instant, but not while Maya was in this state. He didn't know what would happen if he tried to get her back, but he knew it wouldn't end well.

"Yes, you," Maya said, her voice deep and even. "Yer nothing compared to Kira."

"How did he do it?!" Phoenix blurted, much to the client's annoyance.

Maya turned toward him. "Who the hell are you?"

"Over here," the client said, nudging Maya's chin with one finger so she faced him again. Phoenix gritted his teeth. "Answer him. How did you die?"

"Heart attack," Maya replied. "I shoulda been safe. Only murderers were killed by Kira. Why'd he care about my petty theft? Even the law wasn't going to kill me over that."

"But . . ." The client was getting agitated. Phoenix had only seen him calm and collected, and it rattled him to see the man getting worked up. He wasn't in control of the conversation, and he didn't like it. "Did you see him? How did he do it?"

Maya shrugged. "Dunno. I was at home eatin' my dinner and _bam_. No warning."

The client leaned toward Maya. "Where are you? Is there anyone else there who would know?"

Maya emitted a deep, throaty laugh. "Anyone else? I don't get to see anyone else where I am. Quit wastin' my time." Then he was gone; Maya leaned forward with her palms on the tatami, gasping for breath. As Phoenix placed a hand on her back, the client stared wide-eyed as Maya's appearance quickly changed back to normal. Phoenix had to admit, it was alarming when he'd first seen it, too.

"Let's take a break," Phoenix said, sitting back on his heels. But the client didn't say anything. He was still staring at Maya, even as she regained her composure. She smiled at him, though he didn't return the gesture.

"I know I didn't do it," the client said.

"What?!" Phoenix and Maya cried in unison.

He looked back and forth between them both, slowly, his eyes boring into theirs. "Well, you heard the guy. No one was around, right? You don't have to waste your time calling all these people. That was enough."

Phoenix was unconvinced, but didn't want to call him out. He knew how draining it was for Maya to channel, so she was probably relieved that she didn't have to continue. But . . .

"You tried to kill him?" Phoenix asked.

The client raised a shoulder in a half-shrug. "Self-defense, right? Obviously the guy was a criminal, otherwise Kira wouldn't have killed him. Don't believe that 'petty theft' bullshit."

"But you've killed before?" Maya asked, her voice small.

He didn't answer. He removed the glasses from his pocket and fiddled with the arms before pushing them back onto his face. "I've hired you for this job," he said evenly. "My past mistakes have no correlation to this investigation."

Phoenix pulled his sneakers back on, blowing out the nearest candles so they were engulfed in a semi-darkness. "If you wish to conduct an investigation, Mr. Bri—"

"Hey!" He waved his hands wildly. "No names!"

Phoenix let in a breath, waited a beat, then slowly released it. "Fine. If you want to conduct an investigation, then you should hire a private investigator. I'm a lawyer, and if you haven't been accused of anything, then I can't help you." He rose, gathering the extinguished candles into his backpack, the wax still soft and dripping over his hands.

Maya hadn't moved yet. She bit down on her lower lip and stared at the client, her eyes wandering. Phoenix wished they would move; he wanted to roll up the tatami mat and get out of there.

"But if I _am_ accused of something," the client said, finally rising and stepping off the mat, "then you would represent me?"

"We can't," Maya said softly, before Phoenix could reply. "We serve to protect the innocent, and you are not innocent."

The client crossed his arms. "You are dismissed, then, Maya Fey." He smirked, then bounded up the stairs.

Phoenix started to roll up the mat but Maya remained unmoving, even when the roll approached her knees. "Maya? What is it?"

"I . . . we never told him my name."

Phoenix sat back. It wasn't impossible for the client to have figured out her identity—there weren't many spirit mediums, and even less who were associated with Phoenix Wright—but the way Maya stared blankly at the staircase told him that this was something more than simply a man who read the papers. He reached for her shoulder but she quickly scurried off the mat, grabbing it from him to finish rolling it up. She was running up the stairs before he had a chance to follow.


End file.
